Her apartment stretched out around her
She opened her eyes to a city drenched in flickering neon whispers, the rain falling like the sharp static of dead frequencies. The year was 2147, and Morgen Kade could still feel the last traces of her dream—a dream not her own. A stranger's face, a stranger’s touch. Carefully engineered joy ruptured by the piercing siren in her head. Her neural implant blinked red behind her left ear, signaling a notification from SynchroCorp: “Routine Emotional Calibration Missed. Please reset within 24 hours.”
Morgen didn’t move. Her apartment stretched out around her in shades of deep black and chrome, every inch of it hinting at flaws she didn’t have. The walls pulsed faintly with customized holographic accents of crimson—her favorite color, chosen once and echoed eternally in her digital footprint. On the streets below her high-rise, the city pulsed with bio-electric energy, the arteries of a future merged with machine, the skyline fragmented by hovering corporate logos and sprawling transit drones.
Her wardrobe—a curated simulation known as the SkinWeave Project—instinctively shifted in anticipation of her mood. A jumpsuit of crimson leather unfurled from the spindles of glossy fibers encasing her room’s fabric walls, morphing itself mid-air to pair with tall boots and detachable panel skirts. The angular cuts were vintage-inspired, vaguely reminiscent of the cyberpunk revival of the late 21st century. Morgen stared at it impassively as SynchroCorp's slogan whispered through her audio enhancements: “Better than love. Better than real.”
Today, nothing about her programmable life felt better.
Out the window, the world refused to sleep
Out the window, the world refused to sleep. Holo-billboards glimmered above the restless stream of commuters, advertising AI-enhanced holidays, non-linear past lives, and EmotiVine 3.0: “The first implant promising genuine, biologically indistinguishable love.” Morgen let out a bitter laugh, shoving down toast that materialized from her automated kitchen unit. She hadn’t ordered it, but the kitchen had analyzed her caloric intake and prepared exactly what it deemed “optimal.”
She stepped outside into the drone-buzzed morning, the crimson leather snug against her—smooth in places, sharp where microplates curved to form synth-armor over her shoulders. Why fight the look, she mused darkly, hailing a levitating pod with an instinctual gesture. She clipped into her usual dynamic, head tilted against the cabin's armored window as the city blurred past her.
But then, the unexpected came into focus.
The studio complex loomed at her stop, its outline buzzing faintly with an unseen energy that set her nerves on edge. Morgen hesitated, her boot hovering above the rain-slicked curb as she took in the pale-blue glow radiating from its entrance. It wasn’t the building itself that held her still—it was the name tied to it, flickering in her mind like a corrupted hologram: Andor Vess.
Infamous and elusive, Andor was more than just a name whispered in hushed tones; he was a symbol of rebellion in a world that had flattened all sense of individuality. His exploits were urban legend, retold with breathless awe in digital forums and shadowy corners of the net. The stories claimed he’d pulled off the impossible—stealing an Echo-Digital Device, the rumored prototype capable of mapping not just your emotions but the very essence of who you were.
She pulled her hood over her head, the fabric fusing to a protective helmet as her implant softly buzzed: "Caution: Unauthorized activity detected near this location. Avoid if possible." It wasn’t possible. Not now. Not when her neural dreams still vibrated with the stranger’s face, and her life seemed caught between algorithmic perfection and a suffocating hollowness.
Inside the complex, the air was heavy, charged with tension. Rows of forgotten equipment and scattered projectors lined the vast room, their screens casting fragmented reflections of old realities and unfulfilled promises. The crimson glow of her jumpsuit illuminated the path forward, drawing a dozen curious glances from the few figures hunched over their private worlds of stolen tech.
At the center of it all sat Andor.
The Man Behind the Myths
Andor Vess was younger than she expected, his sharp features framed by unruly curls and faint scars etched across his temples—markers of failed implant experiments. His eyes, a piercing green, didn’t lift as she approached, but his voice reached her before she could speak.
“I was wondering when you’d show up, Kade.”
Morgen froze. “You know me?”
“Not yet,” he said, leaning back in his chair with an air of effortless confidence, “but you wouldn’t be here if SynchroCorp hadn’t already ruined your life.” He gestured to a battered chair across from him. “Sit. Tell me how long it’s been since you felt something real.”
Her pulse quickened. “You’re a thief. A hack. What could you possibly know about what I’m feeling?”
He smirked, unoffended. “More than you’d think. Sit, Kade.”
Against her better judgment, she sank into the chair. Her implant buzzed again—a warning, louder this time. Andor leaned forward, pulling a small, metallic device from his pocket. It pulsed faintly, a heartbeat of forbidden technology.
A Proposal of Freedom
“This,” he began, holding the device between them, “is what SynchroCorp doesn’t want you to have. They call it the Echo-Digital Device, but that’s a lie. It’s not just about reading emotions or customizing relationships. It’s about breaking free. You’ve felt it, haven’t you? The cracks in their perfect little world. The empty promises. The endless calibration.”
Morgen’s breath caught. “How do you know about my calibrations?”
“SynchroCorp owns you,” he said simply. “Every thought, every choice, every dream. They’ve mapped it all. But this—” he tapped the device—“this lets you take it back. It’s messy, unpredictable, even dangerous. But it’s yours.”
Her mind raced. The stranger in her dreams, the suffocating perfection, the growing void she couldn’t ignore. “Why me?” she demanded. “Why now?”
“Because you’re already slipping through their cracks,” Andor said, leaning closer. “And because they’ll come for you soon. They don’t like loose ends.”
The Test
Morgen stared at the device, its soft glow casting eerie shadows. “What do you want from me?”
“A choice,” Andor said simply. “You can walk out of here, go back to your curated existence, and let them bleed you dry one calibration at a time. Or you can join me. Take the fight to them. Break the system from the inside.”
The words hung in the air like static, charged with danger and promise. Morgen’s fingers itched to reach for the device, to feel its cold, untamed power. But fear held her back. “And if I say yes?”
A grin spread across Andor’s face. “Then we show the world what it means to feel again.”
Outside, the rain intensified, pounding against the building like a heartbeat. Morgen glanced back at the door, at the hollow glow of the city she thought she knew. Then she looked at Andor, the device, and the undeniable truth reflected in his green eyes.
SynchroCorp had built her life, but maybe, just maybe, she was ready to tear it down.
Her hand closed around the device.
The Source...check out the great article that inspired this amazing short story: AI's Ability to Learn and Adapt: The Allure—or Threat—of Customized Relationships
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